#im bad at writing political tension but it's a fun concept to explore

[rookinthecrownest]

A War of Roses (Alistair x F! Trevelyan) - WIP

Alistair frowns, and decides enough time has sufficiently passed, that the polite pretence of his station has elapsed its usefulness. The mask slips casually, first in the dark, intelligent gleam in his eyes and then in the tension winding his jaw and temple, giving him a hardened, but passably neutral expression to the unobservant. But that was not who he was sitting across from, in the dimly lit comfort of his study. No, the Inquisitor was anything but unobservant. She was too observant for her own good. Even now, as she reclines against the settee, he can feel her unnatural Fade-green eyes burning like the embers of a hot fire against his skin. It’s uncomfortable, stuffy. Although he wants to, he doesn’t shift awkwardly in his plush lounge chair – a credit to those years he spent training as a templar.

Instead, he straightens, calmly takes the wine goblet on the side table to his right and swirls its contents thoughtfully.

The Inquisitor wordlessly mirrors his movements.

“You put a rather dangerous man on the throne of Orlais” He says, taking a sip of the wine and ignoring the feeling of it churning in his empty stomach.

Iris Trevelyan gives him a tight smile that does not reach her eyes, “Right to the point, I see”  

“Come now, Inquisitor” Alistair waves a hand, “We’re far too old for games”. He sets the goblet aside for a moment and leans forward, on his elbows. “I want to know why. Why him. Celene would have made just as good an ally”

And an easier one to defeat if it came to all-out war, she's no doubt thinking.

As he watches the answer form behind her keen eyes, he tries not to think of all the border skirmishes that Gaspard has been careful enough not to let teeter into the territory of a full-on invasion. He was prodding, measuring, testing Ferelden’s response and strength before quickly withdrawing. Something he rarely had to worry about or deal with when Celene was on the throne - too focused on pretty words and glittering parties to bother with overt military action against him.

Iris took another sip of wine, as if to steel herself for her response, and licked the excess from her lips before setting her own goblet aside. The burnished gold tassels on her dress reflected the candlelight, casting her bronze, freckled skin in a warm orange glow.

“If you saw Corypheus’ army you wouldn’t be asking me this”

He bristled at her needling.

Alistair had more than enough to deal with, trying to keep the peace in Ferelden, which regrettably kept him out of the fight with Corypheus. The fallout from Gereon Alexius’ takeover of Redcliffe castle, and the Mage-Templar war had kept him rather preoccupied – and she knew that.

“The answer is simple, really. I needed strength, numbers. Gaspard had the loyalty of the Chevaliers and the might of the Orlesian army on his side and Celene had the attention of a bunch of poncy aristocrats.” She gives him a noncommittal shrug, “You were a Warden not so long ago. Would you take a pampered palace poodle into a swam of Darkspawn over a Mabari?”

Alistair snorts, “Do you think me incapable of understanding your rationale without a dog analogy?”

Iris tucks a stray lock of jet-black hair behind her ear, “Have I insulted your Fereldan pride? I thought you lot loved dogs”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. He decides to ignore the gibe. “Still, you’ve created quite a problem for my country, putting an expansionist warmonger on the throne of the largest Empire in Thedas”

Iris folds her arms across her chest. Her thick brows furrow together and her playful expression grows cold. “When I had the weight of Southern Thedas on my shoulders and an undead Magister with an army of Red Templars to fight, I was hardly making my decisions based on what would trouble Ferelden the least, politically. I did what I had to do to ensure your country lived to see those troubles”

He takes her point and turns it over in his mind like a stone in the palm of his hand.

“So, I should be thanking you that Orlais and Ferelden lived through Corypheus so they could war with each other once again” Alistair grins sardonically, “What a sentiment”

The Inquisitor’s eyes narrow on him, and the distance between them feels much smaller than it ought to.

"Yes, exactly" She answers firmly. "It wouldn't be the first time I saved you from an incursion of Tevinter Magisters, would it?"

Maker's breath.